


Dethroned

by clefairytea



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Gen, Suicide mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 04:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5954211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clefairytea/pseuds/clefairytea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victoria knows there’s a word for it. There was a word for why she had turned up in Mr Jefferson’s horror show, why she had to beg at Max’s feet, why Nathan was so tied up in this shitshow, and why Arcadia Bay was being shredded all around her.</p><p>Standing alone in the middle of the chaos, Victoria watches the storm come.</p><p>The word is karma.<br/>--<br/>What if Max never stopped trying to save everyone, and what if someone started to remember it all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dethroned

**Author's Note:**

> Played a lil fast and loose with Max's time powers - let's imagine that she figures out how to go back more in line with how the player can!

The whole world is ending, and Victoria Chase is in the middle of it.

That’s where she always expected to be.

But the thing is, she’s not even _responsible_ for it.

If Arcadia Bay was going to be torn to shreds, she wanted to be the one doing the tearing. Being rescued from the hands of Mark fucking Jefferson by Maxine Caulfield and the local army-freak security guard wasn’t exactly her style. Lying on the floor, sobbing and terrified and just begging for the world to stop and jump back, _is not her style_.

Thing is, she’s always imagined being attacked by some bastard who wanted more from her than she was willing to give. A rapist with a knife, a murderer with a knife, a serial killer with a chainsaw.

It wasn’t that she had ever sat down and intentionally thought about it, or that she got off on it or anything fucked up like that, it was just the kind of thing that was all around you. School-mandated sessions on how not to get date-raped, slasher movies where some guy in a mask chases around some screaming idiot who forgot to wear a bra, news reports about girls slaughtered or chopped up or left for dead on the side of the road. That kind of thing was all over the place. There was no avoiding it.

In Victoria’s mind, the road to escape was easy, straight and dignified. She’d disarm the killer with a cutting comment, fight her way out, call the police, and even in the worst and most terrifying position, she’d keep her cool, and think her way out. She was smart, she was capable. She was Victoria _motherfucking_ Chase.

And then it actually happened, and she fell to pieces, practically begging at Maxine Caulfield’s feet for help. And Max had been the one keeping her cool. The little hipster waif who had panic attacks in the school bathroom and squirmed whenever Mark – Mr Jefferson – asked her a question in class.

Max Caulfield, the girl Victoria had stared at and hated and – well, what else she had felt was weird and complicated and not the kind of girl Victoria was, had gotten her own back more than she ever could with any one of Victoria's tricks. Victoria could try all she wanted to play the teen villain, but Max had been a hero and she could never, ever get over that.

Victoria knows there’s a word for it. There was a word for why she had turned up in Mr Jefferson’s horror show, why she had to beg at Max’s feet, why Nathan was so tied up in this shitshow, and why Arcadia Bay was being shredded all around her.

Standing alone in the middle of the chaos, Victoria watches the storm come.

The word is _karma_.

 

“And Max has a gift.”

Victoria stands up and leaves class. Mr Jefferson shouts at her to come back, and the class titters behind her. She feels Max staring at her retreating back, eyes all deer-in-headlights, but that’s just the way she looks all the time.

She stands outside of the classroom door and checks her phone. She pinches herself hard enough to draw up a bead of blood between her manicured nails.

Victoria waits outside the door, half-expecting to just wake up in the carnage of Arcadia Bay, but then Max Caulfield rushes out of the door and runs down the hallway. The rest of Blackwell comes out of class, and Victoria has to expect this is real.

The cogs of Arcadia Bay continue to turn, and it all feels so familiar, because it _is_ all so familiar, and nobody knows anything about storms, or about Mr Jefferson, or about Nathan.

 

At first she tries to fight, but nobody knows what’s she’s talking about, and when it comes down to it, neither does she. She just sounds crazy. How can you fight against something invisible, intangible, the kind of thing that might only be in your own head anyway?

Instead, Victoria Chase adapts. She always does. She adapts to changes in style, she adapts to the ins-and-outs of the Vortex Club, and no matter what bullshit Arcadia Bay throws at her, she stays on top of the food chain.

One morning, she checks her phone and she just knows Max is her best friend. She doesn’t know how it happened, and she sure as hell doesn’t remember sending Max all those texts, but it’s what happens to be the truth that day. Max is in the Vortex Club. Hell, she’s maybe the second most popular girl in school, second only to herself.

Victoria rolls with it. She plays the part, she’s cosy and supportive and cuddly, even when Max looks twitchy and uncertain, not at all like the confident Max in those texts or her Facebook page.

Then she wakes up at a Vortex Club party, Max is nowhere to be seen, and Rachel Amber is dancing on top of the sofa, swinging her hips to and fro. Her stoner friend with the blue hair leans across to Victoria and breathes weed straight into Victoria’s mouth, one hand on the back of her neck. Victoria recoils, but Chloe only laughs, too gone to know.

She goes outside and she sees Max, chasing Nathan Prescott across the parking lot.

Nathan draws a gun, Max puts out a hand, Victoria calls out _Don’t, you idiot –_

She’s sneaking after Max in Blackwell after dark, Max’s fingers are entwined with hers. Victoria opens her mouth to what’s going on, but Max looks over her shoulder and presses a finger to her mouth.

They sneak into the headmaster’s office, and Max has some crazy plan to blow open the headmaster’s door with some help from that nerdy boyfriend of hers, and all Victoria can do is nod and try to look as though she knows what the hell is happening.

They get a bunch of files about Rachel Amber and Chloe Price – and Max doesn’t seem to accept the idea that they’re both dead, it makes her sink down and press her hands into her eyes. Victoria can only rub her back, trying to put the pieces of the world together in her head, and then Max takes something out of her pocket and looks at it and –

“And Max has a gift.”

Mr Jefferson is on his spiel again. Victoria has heard it a million times. Sometimes, she forgets how much she hates Mr Jefferson, for what he did, for what he’s doing, for what he’s going to do, depending on where and when Victoria wakes up. Yet the second he starts giving them that stupid speech, about framing them in dark corners, about capturing a _moment of desperation_ , Victoria wants to throw up all over her desk.

She looks at Max, and Max is fixing Mr Jefferson with a look of pure hatred. Victoria doesn’t know what to make of that.

Lately, Victoria doesn’t know what to make of anything.

 

Rachel Amber is missing.

Rachel Amber is safe.

Chloe Price is dead.

Chloe Price is alive.

Nathan Prescott is in prison, rotting with Mr Jefferson.

Nathan Prescott walks free, with a gun under his jacket.

Every time Victoria wakes up, she can’t predict what the world around her will be like. She checks her texts first thing – she needs to figure out who is her friend, who is her enemy, who is alive, who is dead. It’s all essential to navigating the day at Blackwell.

And that’s all she can do lately. Navigate the day. Maybe a few days, maybe just a few hours, but it will go back some time, and everything will be changed again.

Though Victoria has noticed a little thing that remains consistent, no matter where or when she is, or what rules of the world have shifted since she last blinked:

Victoria Chase is a bitch.

Victoria Chase is a slut.

Victoria Chase is _losing her goddamn mind_.

 

Kate Marsh falls from the roof of their dorms, and Victoria has it on film on her phone. She hates herself for it.

Kate Marsh is brought down the stairs by Max Caulfield, and Victoria has it on film on her phone. She hates Max for it.

Kate Marsh falls from the roof of their dorms. Victoria isn’t there.

Kate Marsh is rescued by Max, who hugs her close, and Victoria breathes a sigh of relief.

Kate Marsh is rescued by Max, and Victoria knows this is all her fault.

Kate Marsh falls and Victoria can only scream.

Kate Marsh falls and Victoria couldn’t grab her in time.

Kate Marsh falls and Max is still on the grounds in front of the dorm, her arm in Victoria’s grip as she demands answers.

Kate Marsh falls, and Victoria sits cross-legged on the grass, not caring about the rain soaking her skin and clothes. She tears grass from the ground and tosses it in the air. Kate Marsh is a corpse and Victoria doesn’t even care. How could she, really. A few people nearby look at her, their faces contorted with disgust, but Victoria only rests her chin on her hand and waits and –

Kate Marsh is rescued by Max. Victoria watches in silence, her hands in her pockets, and knows she is being punished.

 

It hits her when she’s on the steps, and that bucket falls and splashes paint all over her clothes, _again_. She works up the energy to seem angry, sending the girls away to get her a towel – though it’s not even like it’s her best clothes. In fact, she barely put more than pajamas on for the day.

She had known it was coming, after all.

Then Max came up to talk to her, and suddenly she remembered.

She remembered the sprinklers coming on, and the bucket steady above her. She remembered sitting on the step, the sprinklers off, and the bucket hit the ground and splattered paint harmlessly on the floor. She remembered the football hitting Alyssa, not hitting Alyssa. She remembered Max mocking her.

Max comforting her.

Max mocking her.

Max comforting her.

Back and forth, back and forth, like she couldn’t decide, and it had been new to Victoria every time.

Victoria looks up at Max, her mouth dry.

“That was an awesome cashmere coat.”

Victoria gets to her feet, dizzy with hate and at the back of her head she hears fucking Jefferson say it again _Max has a gift_. And that she does, apparently. That’s how much the universe hates Victoria Chase, apparently.

She tells Max to go fuck herself. Victoria gets up and grabs her by the shoulders and snarls insults that feel hot and messy on her tongue and then -

She’s back on the step again, looking back at Max. Max looks pale and shaken, but, she says the same thing, tentative as putting her toe in hot water.

“That was an awesome cashmere coat.”

Victoria looks up at Max’s doe-eyed gaze and _hates_ her.

“Yes,” she says, saying words so familiar the taste of them lies heavy and bland on her tongue, “But there will be another.”

Max breathes a sigh of relief, and Victoria _knows_ it’s her.

 

Victoria stays in bed.

The world changes and shifts around her, and different people bang on her door every morning. Usually it’s Taylor, or even Nathan, a few weirder times its Max or Brooke, and once it’s Warren, of all people. He even calls her _Vicky_. Gross.

Victoria doesn’t care. She just turns over in bed and looks around at her room, sometimes familiar, sometimes not, and goes back to sleep. Sometimes she’s still there when the end of the world comes and tears her apart.

 

Victoria in the Dark Room, Max struggling in a chair, Mr Jefferson watching them both from behind a camera. Max promises that she’ll get Victoria out alive _this_ time; that Mr Jefferson will go down _this_ time; that everyone will be okay _this_ time. Mr Jefferson tells Max that she should stop snooping, talks about _real_ art, and how Nathan wasn’t capable of it, how none of them were capable of it. Only him.

Max says again and again she’ll win this time. That she’ll save everyone _this time_.

Everyone _and_ Chloe, she says. She promises she won’t have to choose, and she says it with a desperation that makes the veins on her neck pop and blood dribble from one of her nostrils.

Victoria doesn’t know what she’s talking about. This is something she’s not involved with. Blackwell is her queendom, but apparently while she wasn’t looking, a witch snatched away her crown, and grew a forest of thorns over her castle.

Mr Jefferson just laughs and reminds her that Chloe is dead. Tells her that she’ll be joining her soon. Max spits at Mr Jefferson’s feet, and he hits her hard over the face, enough to make her and the chair both fall. He stalks out, swearing and mumbling, and Victoria hears Max mumbling and swearing too.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Max trying to wriggle free, she sees Mr Jefferson hit her again, she sees Max sit still and Jefferson _not_ hit her, she sees all the little iterations and orders this can happen in, and she’s just never off the goddamn ground. Max spits and fights and screams again and again, and Victoria can only sit in the middle of this…fucking battlefield, or whatever it is, and watch the bullets fly.

What can she do, when the whole damn world revolves around Max Caulfield?

She closes her eyes, and waits to wake up somewhere else.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember that time Victoria Chase was Sans the skeleton because that's apparently what this is.


End file.
